


What If We're Wrong?

by rowaning



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, minimal editing we die like steven king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowaning/pseuds/rowaning
Summary: I had the thought 'What if Aziraphale and Crowley had no idea whether their body-swapping plan would work and spent their entire trials worrying about the other's safety?' so I wrote this.Originally written in summer 2019.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 21





	What If We're Wrong?

“What if we’re wrong?”

The words tumble from Crowley’s lips, but it’s Aziraphale who spoke them. A second, a momentary lapse in faith, and the seeds of doubt are planted in both of their minds. But it’s too late for doubt. Before Crowley can respond he is yanked away from Aziraphale, dragged by angels who mistake him for one of them. He screams for his angel but is muffled by the tape across his face. Aziraphale spins and runs towards him, arms outstretched, reaching. He doesn’t notice the demons closing around him until the club hits his kneecaps, bringing him to the ground. Another club strikes his head, and the last thing he sees is his demon, dragged upward by the angels who came for him. One goes up, the other goes down and the same thought flashes through their minds;

“What if we’re wrong?”

* * *

Aziraphale stands trial in hell. Crowley’s crimes are listed, and he is sentenced, and he can barely hear the proceedings over the worry in his mind, the anxiety screaming so loud he’s afraid Beelzebub can hear it. 

“What if we’re wrong?”

“Maybe they’ll have something else upstairs.”

“Something that can kill angels and demons.”

“Maybe they’ll actually kill him.”

“Maybe I’ll never see him again.”

The thoughts run rampant until they are interrupted by the sound of an elevator, and the arrival of Michael. The demons outside jeer and yell as the holy water is poured, some bonus torture for a forsaken demon. Aziraphale’s been trying to play up the confidence, leaning into Crowley’s swagger, but he can’t quite keep up the act. Beelzebub sees the apprehension on his face and leans back in smug satisfaction, mistaking it for fear for his own life. The waiting is torture for Aziraphale, every second he stands there his anxious mind spirals deeper as he imagines every painful death Crowley could be facing right now. The screams of the lesser demon echo in his mind, and he steps forward, into the cold water, and prays that the demons’ astonishment will mask his fear.

* * *

Upstairs, Crowley is tied to a rolling chair. In another time, he would think it hilarious. In this time, he’s only angry. Well, not only angry, but he’d like to believe he is. He’s forcing himself to remember Aziraphale reaching out to him, Aziraphale knocked to the ground by Hastur, Aziraphale dragged to hell. He’s still riding the rage he felt in that moment, because if he doesn’t then he’ll be terrified. Despite his efforts, the words creep into his mind;

“What if we’re wrong?”

And he knows the anger is just a shield, the fury he’s pointing at Gabriel and Uriel is only surface level, and below that he’s so afraid. Because if they’re wrong, hell will have other ways of dealing with wayward demons. Ways that also deal with wayward angels. He’s always known that there was a risk with their arrangement, he just never thought Aziraphale could be hurt by it. Hell would gladly kill one of their own for betrayal, but Crowley wasn’t in hell. His angel was.

Gabriel’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and suddenly it’s much easier to be angry. He announces that a ‘new associate’ will be arriving, and Crowley sneers at him, wishing he could tear him apart just for saying Aziraphale’s name as if he deserved to. His attention is diverted once again by the sound of an elevator, and the arrival of the demon. It’s one he’s never met, luckily, and it lights the fire and leaves quickly. Crowley faces the flames, his face a calm mask hiding the sea of fear within. It’s almost over, he just needs to step into the flames, scare a few angels and go home to- what? What, exactly, will he be going home to? If there’s no one- no don’t think that. If there’s nothing to go home to, is it even home? He steps forward, into the flames, and hopes that their roar will mask the waver in his voice.

* * *

A park bench by a river is empty. If it could think, it would think that it shouldn’t be empty, that perhaps something was missing. Or someone. Or two someones. Two someones who had returned to this planet, this city, this neighbourhood just this moment, and were walking towards this park bench. Not fast at first, both afraid of what might not be waiting for them. Not until they see each other. Then they move faster for a moment, relief winning out over propriety. Then slower once again, assured of each other’s existence, and settling back into patterns centuries old.

Crowley and Aziraphale sit together on the park bench, returned to their own bodies. They exchange pleasantries, and recount their experiences. It’s Crowley that says it first;

“Angel I,- I was terrified. Not for me I mean, I mean I- I couldn’t imagine coming back here and you not-“ He cuts off, unable to voice his fears, looking away from Aziraphale as if trying to hide. Aziraphale looks down at his hands, thinking of all the words he wants to say; the ones he’s afraid of, the ones he knows will have consequences. But they’ve already faced the consequences, and both of them are here, together. As it should be. And Aziraphale makes the move he’s been pretending he doesn’t want to make for the last 6000 years. He reaches out, and takes Crowley’s hand, and it feels right. Not good, not bad, but right. Crowley’s head swings around in surprise, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Aziraphale smiles at him.

“I was afraid of losing you too. But I’m not anymore.”


End file.
